


Serial Matchmaker

by Philosoferre



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Café Musain, Courfeyrac being Courfeyrac, F/M, Fluff, Fun, Games, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, and that's never good, courfeyrac has plans, i played mafia today and this happened, ish, jehan is very very disturbing sometimes, jehan plots deaths, jehan tells stories, mafia, the amis play mafia, the game not the gang, what do i tag this as, why does no one suspect courfeyrac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-16 22:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7287667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosoferre/pseuds/Philosoferre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac grinned into his hands.</p><p>He had a plan.</p><p>A very good plan.</p><p>A plan that was bound to work.</p><p>A plan to finally get Enjolras and Grantaire together.</p><p>-</p><p>The Amis play mafia, and Courf has a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serial Matchmaker

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask me what this is. I was just playing mafia today, and I thought of this. Besides, when Courf has a plan, it demands to be written. To my dearest Mirela, who I did not kill during mafia.

It was one of those days when everyone (besides Enjolras, of course) was disinterested in the meeting. People listened to Enjolras for two seconds before splitting off into their individual groups to talk about whatever they were actually interested in. 

And Courfeyrac had an idea.

Which was, reasonably, not a very good thing.

“You know what we should do?” He said loudly.

Everyone stopped talking and stared at him, willing to hear whatever idea he had.

“What?” Combeferre asked.

“Continue with the meeting,” Enjolras grumbled.

“No, I think we should play mafia!”

“Mafia? We are not playing mafia,” Enjolras said.

“I mean the game, you idiot. You all know how to play the game, right?” 

Everyone nodded.

Courfeyrac clapped his hands together, “Awesome! Let’s play!”

“Ooh! Ooh! Can I be storyteller?” Jehan called out.

“Yeah, let Prouvaire be the storyteller,” Feuilly agreed.

“Fine, yeah, you can be storyteller.”

Enjolras scowled as they all formed a circle in the middle of the room. Jehan stood behind them, smiling wickedly. Courfeyrac suddenly regretted his decision to allow him to be storyteller.

“Residents of Musainville, go to sleep,” Jehan commanded.

“Musainville?” Grantaire asked, eyebrow raised.

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

Grantaire sighed and did as he was told, closing his eyes like everyone else. Courfeyrac listened to Jehan’s voice as he walked around the circle, probably plotting the first victim’s gruesome death.

“If I tap you, you are the mafia,” Jehan said.

He walked around a few times, and then lightly tapped Courfeyrac on the head.

Courfeyrac grinned into his hands.

He had a plan.

A very good plan.

A plan that was bound to work.

A plan to finally get Enjolras and Grantaire together.

“If I tap you on the head,’ Jehan continued, voice silky. ‘You are the doctor.”

There was silence for a lingering moment as Jehan tapped someone before he spoke again.

“If I tap you this time, you are the detective.”

Another moment of silence.

“Townspeople, you may now awaken.”

Everyone opened their eyes, and Courfeyrac had to bite his tongue to keep himself from laughing as Grantaire watched Enjolras stretch like a cat, as if he’d actually been sleeping.

Jehan clapped his hands together and then frowned, “I don’t know why I told you guys to wake up, I haven’t even given the mafia a chance to kill someone.”

“Well that’s lovely,” Eponine snorted, rolling her eyes.

“Sorry. Go back to sleep, pretend this never happened.”

Everyone groaned and complained, but closed their eyes again. Jehan started walking around the circle again.

“Mafia, wake up.”

Courfeyrac opened his eyes and looked around the circle. He pointed at someone, and Jehan nodded.

“Mafia, go to sleep.”

Courfeyrac closed his eyes again, and listened as Jehan commanded the doctor and detective to wake up. 

“Townspeople, wake up.”

Everyone woke up again. This time, however, they looked around the circle nervously, wondering who the first victim was. Jehan paused in his pacing, hands clasped behind his back. He was smiling at the group, and that wasn’t really a good sign. His green eyes landed on Cosette.

“Cosette,” He said, voice silky and charming.

Cosette’s eyes went wide, “Yes?”

Jehan didn’t reply, but his smile grew wider. Cosette groaned.

“Oh, it’s me, isn’t it?” 

Jehan simply nodded, “You and Marius were on a date. You were heading home after a splendid night at some Italian restaurant, when he stopped at a store to get you flowers and chocolates. You were waiting outside, in the dark, all alone, and then you got kidnapped by a suspicious man in a white van-“

“Was it Bahorel?” Feuilly asked.

Bahorel snorted, “What makes you think it was me, buttface?”

“You have a white van and you’re suspicious.”

Jehan ignored them, “And Marius took too long deciding between Lindt and Toblerone, so by the time he came out, you were dead in the back of the van. Sorry, Cosette, you’ve been kidnapped and killed.”

Cosette frowned, but flopped down dead anyways. Marius looked panicked. Courfeyrac thought this was all incredibly funny.

“The important thing is, what chocolate did Marius decide on?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras glared at him, “That is a completely inappropriate thought when your friend has just been murdered.”

Grantaire shrugged, “Yeah, I know, but if it was Lindt, I’ll take it.”

“It was, in fact, neither,’ Jehan said, to which he received several gasps. ‘He chose to get a box of taffy.”

“I don’t even like taffy,” Cosette said from her spot on the floor.

“Shut up, you’re dead,’ Jehan snapped. ‘Anyways, the detective thinks the mafia is Eponine. Eponine, please stand up, you’re on trial.”

Eponine just shrugged and stood up. 

“Townspeople, who else do you think committed this crime?” Jehan asked.

Fingers were immediately pointed- mainly at Bahorel, who reluctantly stood up. He and Eponine fist-bumped. 

“You two are on trial. Tell me, where were you when Cosette was kidnapped at exactly 8:25 p.m., Eponine?”

“I was getting drunk with R,” Eponine said.

Jehan turned to Grantaire, “Were you with Eponine?”

“I don’t remember,” Grantaire replied.

“What do you mean?” Jehan asked curiously.

“We were drunk, I don’t remember anything.”

“Except that you were drunk,” Jehan clarified.

“I just remember heading out to some bar, that’s all.”

Jehan nodded and turned to Bahorel, “And where were you?”

Bahorel grinned, “Driving my suspicious white van around town.”

“That’s not exactly helping your situation,” Feuilly muttered.

“You know you’re supposed to say why you didn’t kill Cosette, right?” Eponine said slowly.

Bahorel snorted, “I know, but I swear it wasn’t me.”

“But seriously, where were you?” Jehan repeated.

“Like I said, driving around. Wasting gas so I could go to the gas station and get cheap Pringles.”

Feuilly nodded approvingly, “He does like his Pringles cheap.”

“Alright, townspeople, who do you think killed Cosette?” Jehan asked.

The majority of the group pointed at Bahorel, and he whined before flopping down dead.

Jehan smiled devilishly, “Bahorel was not the mafia.”

“Told you!” Bahorel grumbled.

“Sorry,” Eponine said.

“You guys better avenge me next round,” Cosette sighed.

“Dead people don’t talk,” Joly sang.

Jehan silenced them all with a glare, “Townspeople, go to sleep.”

\----

“Townspeople, wake up.”

Everyone opened their eyes, once again complaining about the sudden burst of light.

“Marius,’ Jehan began. ‘Was walking in the woods. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know. And as he was walking, he got eaten alive by a flock of hungry ravens.”

Marius’ eyes went wide. Everyone went silent.

“That’s disturbing,” Enjolras said.

“And highly unlikely,” Combeferre added.

“Shut up. This is mafia, not science class,” Jehan rolled his eyes.

“Yeah! If Marius gets eaten alive, Marius gets eaten alive,” Dead Bahorel agreed.

“Shut up, Bahorel. You’re dead. Alright, townspeople, who do you think unleashed this flock upon poor Marius?”

Almost everyone pointed at Eponine.

“Damn,” She said.

“Most people think it’s you, anyways, so you’re dead,” Jehan shrugged.

“Whatever,” Eponine said, and flopped down onto Grantaire.

“Help, someone, I have a dead body on me,” Grantaire called out.

Eponine poked him in the arm.

\----

The next round, Courfeyrac chose to kill Bossuet. Everyone just blamed it on his bad luck, but Jehan forced them to put someone on trial (after explaining, in full detail, how Bossuet had died- he had been shoved onto a picket-fence post on Halloween night). They randomly chose Feuilly, and he had reluctantly accepted his fate and sat on Bahorel, who had started making jokes about Feuilly being his ‘dead load’.

 

So far, the plan was working.

\----

“Townspeople, wake up.”

Everyone opened their eyes and looked to Jehan, awaiting to hear who had died.

“Joly was going to the bakery to get some bread. When he got back home, he found out that the entire loaf was covered in fuzzy, green mold.”

Joly fainted.

“How did he die, then?” Dead Eponine asked.

Grantaire slapped a hand over her mouth, and it was very possible that she licked him.

“Like that,” Jehan said.

Everyone went silent.

“Alright, townspeople, who do you think purposely gave Joly moldy bread and killed him?”

Just then, Montparnasse wandered into the backroom.

“I think Montparnasse did it!” Courfeyrac yelled out, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“It was probably me,” Montparnasse agreed, even though he had no idea what was going on.

“You don’t even know what he blamed you for,” Eponine snorted.

Montparnasse shrugged, “Whatever it was, it was probably still me.”

And with that, he walked out.

Jehan rolled his eyes, “Please be serious.”

“I was very serious,” Courfeyrac frowned.

“I think it was Ferre,” Grantaire said.

“What,” Combeferre said.

“It most definitely was not,” Enjolras said hotly.

“OK, then, I think it was you.”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes, “It was not me, either.”

“Then who was it?”

“You. Maybe it was you.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow, “Why would I kill Joly? With bread?”

Enjolras shrugged, “I don’t know. Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. I still think it was Ferre.”

“Why me?” Combeferre asked.

“Yeah, maybe it was Chetta,” Courfeyrac pondered.

Even though it was himself.

“I would never give my boyfriend moldy bread,” Chetta said defensively.

“She’s got a point,” Enjolras considered.

“Then it has to be Ferre,” Grantaire argued.

\----

It took them some time, but they ultimately sentenced Combeferre to death. 

The next round, Courfeyrac killed poor Musichetta, who had apparently drowned in the local swimming pool.

So it was only himself, Enjolras and Grantaire left playing the game.

\----

“Alright, remaining townspeople, who do you think killed Musichetta?” Jehan asked.

Enjolras and Grantaire immediately pointed at each other, completely ignoring Courfeyrac. 

Which he was fine with.

“It was you all along,” Enjolras hissed.

“I think you just killed everyone because you’re a psychotic serial killer, like your parole officer feared,” Grantaire snickered.

“I am not psychotic,” Enjolras said hotly.

“OK, then, you want to run for president and take over the world, and you can’t have any distractions so you killed us all.”

“If I didn’t want any distractions,’ Enjolras countered. ‘I would’ve killed you long ago.”

The plan was going perfectly.

Grantaire lowered his finger, blinking, “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re a distraction.”

“A good distraction, or a bad distraction?”

Courfeyrac smiled up at Jehan, who just rolled his eyes. 

There was silence.

“A good distraction,” Enjolras said, voice small.

“A good distraction,” Grantaire repeated softly.

“I don’t actually think you’re the mafia,” Enjolras admitted.

“Neither do I.”

They looked at each other for a lingering moment before Grantaire got up (Eponine cursed him when her pillow abandoned her) and walked over to Enjolras, lips meeting his halfway. Enjolras pulled him down by the collar of his t-shirt, and they kissed as if they were the only ones in the room.

Marius looked betrayed. Eponine looked slightly wounded. Cosette was grinning. Bahorel was asleep, with Feuilly still sitting on him. Courfeyrac and Jehan were straight-out smiling.

“I feel like a unicorn,” Courfeyrac said.

And that was supposed to make sense, because unicorns were happy things and he felt very happy right now.

“It made more sense in my head, alright?” He clarified.

“We stopped judging things you said long ago, sweetie,” Eponine said gently.

They all stared at Enjolras and Grantaire for a while.

“Umm, guys, we still have a game going on,” Jehan said.

They didn’t listen.

“Screw this, I’m the mafia, I killed all of you just so they would end up confessing their love, and now I’m going to go get nachos because I still have that coupon Chetta gave me a few years ago,” Courfeyrac yelled, standing up.

Musichetta snorted, “That coupon is a total fake.”

“I know, but I’m still getting my free nachos.”

Courfeyrac stood in the doorway, watching his friends. 

He then noticed that Enjolras and Grantaire had stopped making out and were both glaring at him.

“You,” Enjolras hissed.

“It was you all along,” Grantaire added.

“Precisely,” Courfeyrac said, grinning.

And then he ran out to hide behind the bar, because those two were very scary when they were angry. 

At least the plan had worked.

\----

Two Months Later

They were playing mafia again, because Enjolras had spent the first half of the meeting staring at Grantaire, who had just gotten a new tattoo just visible beneath his shirt. 

This time, Grantaire had wanted to be the storyteller so he could plot a horrible death for Eponine.

(“Love you too,” Eponine had replied sarcastically.)

As everyone got into a circle, he pulled Courfeyrac aside.

“So, what’s today’s matchmaking operation?” He asked.

Courfeyrac smiled, “To get Bahorel, Feuilly and Jehan together.”

Grantaire nodded, and they returned to the circle. Courfeyrac squished himself between Combeferre and Enjolras.

“Townspeople of Musainville, go to sleep.”

Everyone closed their eyes.

When Grantaire tapped his head, Courfeyrac smiled into his hands.

He was going to make sure it worked this time round, too. 

He already had a victim in mind, anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> Needless to say, Courf's second plan worked out just as well.
> 
> I apologize that this was mostly dialogue, but...actually, I don't really have an explanation for WHY this is mostly dialogue. It just is.
> 
> Come say hi!!
> 
> P.S. Tumblr? Should I get? This is a serious dilemma, peoples.


End file.
